Today's Polyphemus
by WrtierJC
Summary: A reclusive three eyed doctor from an older time awakens again. Someone with the power to move nations or turn a city upside down in one night, and he wants to heal the pains of the common man. Oswald's simple goal of treating the hurt and sick isn't so easily accomplished, of course, as less merciful things of the night wish for mankind to suffer.
1. Chapter 1: Awakening

Muffled shouting alert centuries-old ears, and joints worn and old twitched to life.

Eyes opened again, and searched through the dark for reason or pattern. Instead, they found dead old wood, and closed so he could listen.

A singular voice echoed out among the rabble of men. A young woman, perhaps, called out with pleading and desperation, and as he listened, memories of old return. Slowly, this maiden's voice of begging brought distant memories of longing to his still heart.

His eyes opened once he felt his empty stomach come alive, and he uttered the whisper, "Mildred." The name of who calmed his starvation in the past, and with that word came the memories of who he was and why he was buried there for so many countless years.

He listened and did not move as the rabble-mouthed voices moved away from his prison of wood, and the woman approached. A soft rapping came to the wood before him, just below his heart.

He recalled the rap-rap-tap, and a sad smile came to his dry lips. He returned it as he had done hundreds of times, and heard a gasp of joy. Then a thud.

"I found you, oh I found you, Master Oswald, I'm so excited..." The voice sounded as if it was straight against his coffin, and he felt his sad smile twitch up into a happier smile. She was hugging him

He knocked the knock again, and she stepped away. "Yes, sir, oh, boy..."

The girl ran away, and Oswald was alone to himself for the moment. He closed his eyes, feeling the exhaustion of a hundred years rest return to him again.

The streets of London were his oldest memory, of the time he was alive. The days he walked, the studies he made effort on, the friendships and rivalries. All so trivial now, so many unknown years later, but still the memories returned to his mind as his eyes closed and darkness came back to him.

The illnesses he left behind, the filth in the streets and the royal rich who had no business with the poor like him and his old mates, it was all so trivial now. Coming to America was exciting, but why was he awoken?

As his mind drifted further into the dark of torpor, Oswald recalled the good and the bad of his older home, and faintly he recalled the trip he took to this west coast. The New World was untouched by the monsters of London... But would it still?

He feel asleep into the dark torpor again with that lingering question.

Did he awaken into the same Jyhad he left in London?


	2. Chapter 2: Hunger

Oswald slept restlessly, his mind plagued with the scent of sweet, delicate blood. It tantalized and teased his senses from his dark torpor, and he awoke again. Eyes opened once again, and he could see, clearly see now.

Warm yellow light of a candle- No. Not a candle, the light did not flicker. Some warm light filled the ceiling of this building. The ceiling was strange with specks popping out of it, and as he rose, the furniture was also suitibly strange to fit. It was all soft and padded, nothing hard about it. So plush.

His mouth was wet with blood and soft cloth. The cloth came away, spat into his hand without grace, and he curiously inspected it. It still smelt of blood, and his body convulsed. The blood's scent was so alluring, the Beast within had been snapped awake by it's promise of pleasure.

Oswald groaned and leaned to the side, gripping his head as he felt the frenzy come about. He mentally pleaded, but the Beast won out. Oswald was so starved, the darkness of torpor had dried up all the vitae resting within him, he had no way to hold back the Beast.

He stumbled to his feet, dizzied at the lack of blood in his system, his eyes blurred as he crouched over and took in the scene. He needed blood, and he would have it, soon.

A knock. "Master Oswald?" A voice. Oswald's form snapped to the door and tore it open. There stood a woman, maybe thirty years of age. Perfectly fine for consumption, his Beast argued, and Oswald bared his fangs as he bounded onto the shocked woman.

"No!" Her cry startled Oswald. No, his truest nature, a fault some would call it, of the bloodline of vampire he belonged to, his true nature as a Salubri halted his feeding totally. His frenzy ended as humiliating disgust took over him.

His fangs retracted and he moved back, crawling like a dog. "I'm. Sorry." He groaned and stood, turning away from the woman. "I am sorry, the hunger, it, it overtook me."

The woman giggled like a young girl. "That's okay, Master Oswald. You must be really hungry. We haven't heard from you in almost two hundred years."

Oswald cocked his head to the side, not quite looking at her out of shame, but so curious. Two hundred years in rest? He breathed the air of the room. The faintest bit of blood came to his nose, but also... Cooking.

"I'm... Sorry, but who are you?"

"Regan Daphne Winters." She stood behind him, still in the doorway, and his excellent ears heard her brushing and patting her clothes. "Great great grand daughter of Mildred Auer."

Oswald bristled and narrowed his eyes at the name, then sagged. "So it's been so long. Mildred, sweet Mildred, where did you go?"

Regan calmly stepped closer and put a hand on one of his arms, gently curling her fingers into the ruined old fabric he wore. "You want to talk about this over dinner? Master Oswald?"

"Oswald is fine. Dinner also sounds fine, though you'll have to excuse my rudeness, for I can't eat."

"Oh, that's a shame, I made you a big bowl of bloody tomato bisque."

Oswald pursed his lips and glanced closer at Regan.

The woman was clearly beyond her teens and into the midway of her life,though she spoke like a young miss. Light brown hair fell around her face, chopped over her forehead and showing her bright brown eyes. With sunkissed skin and a modest plumpness, she did look just like a young Mildred.

Oswald nodded. "I would appreciate some blood, yes. And I must again apologize... For my assault."

Regan shook her head and stepped back. "Nothing doing, sir. I don't know anything about being a vampire, but I get what hunger pains are like!"

Oswald wanted to correct her, maybe lecture her on the nuances of what she's brushing away so nonchallantly, but he opted out. Insted, he enjoyed the company of this younger Mildred. "Very... Very well. Please, Regan, let's eat."

Regan smiled, and as she walked away Oswald awkwardly found himself mirroring her smile.


	3. Chapter 3: Modern Clinic

"You know... Now that you're fully awake, you seem..." Regan tapped her chin and hummed. "It's hard to put my finger on it. You carry yourself like a teacher or like a pastor."

Oswald squinted as he and Regan walked through her home. Just the same as the furniture within, it was in a shape he recognized, but the decor was so alien and lively to him. "Is there an issue with my attitude? Is it ill-fitting for these modern days?" He was not unused to that particular comment, but... Times do change.

With a smile, she shook her head. "Nah." Regan stopped in front of one door and opened it, and did something unseen to the room. To Oswald's surprise, in just that click the room was illuminated. Regan was casual about it, so he followed her into the lit room. "You might get some kind of attention acting like you do, but I don't think anything bad will happen."

She turned back to him, and motioned into the room. Oswald's eyes instantly understood, although the furniture was obscenely soft and featured so much metal, he understood that this room was a quiet study. Books filled old shelves, tables of medical instruments and tools stood against the walls, and a desk was perched in the corner. The windows were shuttered closed, as1` well.

Oswald looked back at Regan as she hustled in and made a small twirl for him. She leaned against the desk and smiled. "Welcome to Doctor Oswald's clinic."

He moved passed her smiling face and approached the bookcase. All of the books there were massive in size, and from peering at the titles, covered only topics he wouldn't recall off hand. Definitely, this small library was a good resource.

After a minute of tracing his fingers along the shelves, Regan slowly spoke, "Do you like it?"

"This is excellent. It's been centuries since I last operated a clinic, but helping the humans was always rewarding." He pulled a book down and turned it over in his rough hands. 'Cancers And Their Limited Treatments' as written by Dr. Henry Cook M.D., Ed.D. As Oswald opened the weighty reference, Regan moved closer to him.

Again, she put a hand on his arm, drawing his gaze. She sheepishly removed her hand, and he looked her in the eye. Regan blinked, her smile faltering for a second, but then she shyly looked away.

However, he wasn't shy. He put a finger under her chin and gently eased Regan's gaze to meet him again, and as he felt the heat rise in her skin, Oswald's third eye snapped open. He saw the aura of her human soul radiate outward in a lucent array of lavender...

Oswald stared, taking in the rays as they danced around Regan's face and shoulders and neck. "You intend to aid me, then? Help an old monster of the night with his machinations?"

Regan's big brown eyes blinked, then again as she smiled and nodded. Her aura changed, vermillion blooming out and taking hold throughout the slow moving flickering strobes of her soul.

"Of course, Oswald."

Oswald did not reply, or continue any further. Instead he watched her aura flicker from vermillion and into lavender again. Her true feelings of the moment were lavender colored. Content with his analysis, he closed his three eyes and leaned back to stand upward once more.

Oswald released Regan, who immediately grabed her chin in confusion.

He took a moment to recall... A lavender aura was the same coding as the pleasant lavender flower. Conservitive moods were made by the flower, and lavender is the color of a conservative mood. Conservative was Regan's true feelings of the moment. Vermillion was bright and sunny, the image of joy, and that flash was her feelings of joy at the chance to help him.

He stepped away, releasing her from his attention and nodded. "Okay." This Regan could be trusted, for now, anyway.

"Then we will work together." He slowly turned with his eyes on her and walked closer to his new desk. He tapped against the glass top, nails clacking and echoing in the room. His digits drummed as he rolled around his plans in his mind.

Awakening to a new era was not expected, but even less likely was his herd surviving through the centuries. Even less expected, bordering on the impossible, was his herd finding him after he buried himself 1000 feet in the earth.

He'd need to learn the new ways of this era of humans.

"Regan, can you tell me the year?"

She nodded, "2018."

He averted his gaze and walked around the desk. "And... Well, I suppose next I would like to know..." Oswald pulled out and sat in his chair. "Is health still a factor among humans? You haven't unlocked immortality or unreasonable immunity have you?" He added the last bit with a smirk as he trailed his nails across the arm rests of his metal and badded seat.

With a chuckle, Regan slowly shook her head. "No immortality yet, Dr. Oswald. No, I think you'll get a lot of business as a clinic! There's thousands of people in this city who don't trust hospitals..."

That earned a curious cock of the brow from the elder kindred, but Oswald didn't question his good fortune. "If that is the case... We can begin as early as tonight."

"To, tonight? Dr. Oswald are you positive that you're already ready? Don't you need new clothes or equipment or, I dunno, maybe find people to come to you? Maybe a bath...?" Regan conciously and capriciously put her hand to her nose.

Oswald looked down at his hands, and at the finery he buried himself in, then squinted at Regan's fanciful wardrobe.

Pants on a woman, and a thin soft shirt, and her shoes weren't made for walking through the elements, clearly.

As Oswald curiously glared, he did of course understand. His clothing had fallen out of fashion. "I suppose I do need a new set of clothes. But honestly I only need a quick powdering, never mind a bath."

"Nevermind a bath nothing, go bathe."

Oswald's head hitched back as if he'd been slapped as this mortal woman gave him a command. He blinked in stupor, then-

"Go, go, bathroom is down the hall, I'll get you some new clothes."

He quietly furrowed his brow and nodded. "If I must." Oswald stood and, per Regan's instructions and demands, took himself to the bath room for a bathing.


	4. Chapter 4: Style

Oswald looked over himself in the mirror, adjusting his new clothes close to himself. He was with Regan in her bedroom. To his shock, this was not nearly as scandalous as he thought. To his further shock, fashion had changed into something... Like this. The clothes he had were a bit tight, and the way his frame filled them out left little to the imagination.

He glanced at Regan, and she only had smiles to confirm his fears of showing too much of his unnatural physique. Or perhaps those were smiles of motivation?

He turned on his heel and looked across himself again. The canvas like material of these jeans he wore were opaque at least. Hid the muscle of his legs, but the rough fabric fell so far down past his ankles they required rolling up. This was something Regan insisted was part of the fashion, a fact that Oswald again scoffed at. Nobles can have their fashion, all he needed were his boots and hood and something to keep him decent.

He was so used to hiding his physical shape. Stooping over and hunching forward, his hood always belayed his power, but this thin fabric "shirt" did not. This shirt also had so much loose fabric it was supposed to be rolled up high onto his biceps. And the necktie... A strange thing to wear, but... Fashion, Regan insisted.

After carefully explaining that piercings, hair cutting and waxing were impossible for a kindred, Regan had provided him with these clothes. These fashionable clothes to wear under his long 'mane' and full beard. Regan casually referred to the entire style as 'Hipster'.

Oswald sighed as he looked at himself in the mirror. "I feel a fool, Regan."

"You look great! Really, trust me, this is good fashion right now, you want to look like an approachable... Uh, scholar, right? This is the look!"

Oswald let out another long sigh and crossed his arms over his soft red tie. White shirt, red tie, blue jeans, he turned back to his old ensamble and then to Regan. "Footwear is still done these days, yes?"

"Yes, yes of course..." Regan hurried over to her bed and pulled out a wooden box. "I figured you would want some boots, so..." She pulled the top off and showed Oswald a pair of thin leather boots, with zippers at the ankles, which confused him on a surface level.

"Boots are appreciated..." He put a finger to the zipper on one boot and looked up at Regan as he removed them, and took socks from her quick hands. At least socks haven't changed to an incredible degree. Though they did look a bit childish in size.

"So! Speaking of... Uh, fitting in, I guess. There's some things you should know."

Oswald leered up at Regan as she spoke, but didn't interrupt her as he focused on working his boots. Zippers and laces... One of them were surely redundant.

Regan took a moment to rub her chin and grab some other articles. A sack and some dark glasses. Glasses were glasses, dark or not, but Oswald merely stared at the soft wool sack as Regan spoke.

"It's a hat. Anyways, er, I was thinking, if you're going to run a clinic, you should take a bit of time to get some clients, maybe? I'm not really good at that kind of thing, you know, running a business." Regan sheepishly commented, looking aside. "I also kind of have to get to my own job, so you would need to... Run it all by yourself."

Oswald rolled his head to the side as he slid the hat up over his head. The mirror told him the wool sack didn't look right with the rest of his outfit. He removed it and stood, facing Regan, who, to his keen eyes, was visibly uncomfortable. She was flushed in the face and the color was gone from her hands. She was embarressed, confused and anxious all at once, and as a member of his herd, she didn't need that.

The elder offered his hand to Regan, who looked down at it, then up at him. She awkwardly put her hand into his, and his other, sack in hand, laid upon hers. In a blink, Regan was gone, and he was standing before the young Mildred once again in London. Oswald took a new breath and sighed once again, clearing his vivid vision away of the dusted past.

"Thank you, Regan. Your efforts have been monumental, and you've performed above and beyond your call as the descendant of my favorite woman in this world. I thank you, and appreciate everything you've done for me."

Regan blinked, and a soft level of moisture formed in her eyes as she smiled. "Thank you, Master Oswald."

Despite his physical superiority, Oswald didn't have the celerity required to avoid Regan pushing into him with a hug. He did have the sense to grunt, and reactively put his hand onto the back of her head as it laid against her shoulder.

"Yes... Yes, of course, well, you have earned my thanks, so it's the least I can do."

Regan sniffed and pulled back from him, taking a seat on her bed. She hummed and stared at the floor.

Color was returning to her, and evening out between the blush and the pale of her anxiety, and Oswald was relieved. Though now her quiet implied some kind of scheming. But after a minute of staring, Oswald turned to the mirror again. He had more complaints to internally give himself about his appearence until he'd feel comfortable.

Suddenly, Regan continued, "I guess I can help, a little bit, anyways."

He quietly looked at her, finger under his tie, then looked back at the mirror and back at her. "If,,, If you'd like to, I won't deny you."


	5. Chapter 5: The People

Upon emerging from his new home, Oswald took a moment to absorb his surroundings. The times have changed and he was totally expecting to be flooded with an overwhelming amount of stimuli, so to brace himself, he wore those dark glasses Regan had given him. The hat was forgone, not more than a distant thought. Not his... Preferred style.

As he stepped out, Oswald looked around. He was at first surprised at how similar and different this LA was from London. The similarities? Streets, lamps, the ever present nightly miscreant. The differences? The architecture and the moving metal carriages were notable. The diversity was unexpected, race and gender moved together, even in these late nights, especially as he approached what looked like a social cluster.

Oswald went silent as he walked by it. The colors, lights and sounds were not something he wanted to interact with just yet. Luckily, the new world hadn't abandoned signs and roadmarks in the turn of the millennia, so as he walked, he had a sizable mental map drawing up of the neighborhood he and Regan lived within.

This LA, as Regan called it, was a sizable city, with perhaps millions of humans if there were this many thousands out at night.

Oswald stopped and turned back to the social center down, far from where he stood. The music was loud, the lights were bright, and the aroma of liquor and hot food filled the air, all due to his Auspex. Eye closed, his senses were still potent enough from there to know that place is quite lively.

Not something he wanted a part of yet. He turned again, and this time, as he faced forward, he heard something troubling.

A muffled cry. His frown deepened to a scowl and he turned, making a hasty step to the source.

A boarding house (if that was the name still) had it's front door ajar, and as Oswald approached, his brow furrowed around his dark glasses. The cries were quieting, and were joined with a strained series of grunts.

The door opened for him and he looked in. The artificial light was jarring, as was the abstract shapes of the inside, which he would later learn is just plaster over concrete, typical for a stairway. But confusion was not to prey upon him that evening, no.

Oswald stood in the doorway of a common boarding house and glared down at a developing crime.

Two men were entwined, one struggling against the other, the predator having his hand over his victim's mouth. Oswald saw the sweat and flush on the predator's face, and he saw the fear and panic in his victim's eyes. He was just in time to prevent something truly vile from happening.

His dark glasses came off and he glared down the hall at the men. His century's old accent shone through as he spoke, "Trust nothing uncouth's happening this eve, gents?"

"Fuck off." The attacker drew up some keys from his pocket and hastily stabbed at the door he was near.

Oswald tutted and put his glasses on a nearby surface, a table with a plant, and marched forward. As he did, his chest swelled under his shirt with the potent power of his stored vitae. His knuckles cracked and his eyes glared down at the man. "The name's Oswald, my good reprobate. I'm a son of God, and I walk in His light."

The key took and the door was kicked open. "I said fuck off, you Dr. Who prick. You don't have anything to do with this!"

Oswald already had a hand on the man before he and his prey could duck away into his hole. "Oh, but it is. It's God's will I was sent this way, heard your struggles and helped you." He blinked and smiled down at the pale prey in the predator's arms. "Do you think so?"

He slowly nodded, watching Oswald. It didn't take centuries of study and counseling to understand the relief in his eyes.

The other was not too happy, but Oswald expected nothing less. He tried to shrug Oswald off, but the kindred's powerful grip was nothing to be scoffed at. "Dude. You're hurting me. Seriously, this has nothing to do with you, this is just how I gotta get my boyfriend sometimes. He has a condition, schizophrenia, ever heard of it?" His shoulder shook in Oswald's hand, and the grip did not ease.

Oswald had heard of such a malady. Such a condition had to be treated mildly, calmly, and in some cases, with utmost care.

But Oswald was no fool, and this man was a liar. A good liar, but a liar.

"What triggers his moods? What's he experience? How often does it happen, how severe, seizures, do they happen? How long has he had shizophrenia? Diagnosed by a physician or a psychologist?"

The man blinked and shook his head. "W-what the fuck are you on about?"

This distraction was ideal. His would-be prey stomped the aggressor's foot, and in the grimacing flinch, ducked off and ran. That left Oswald and the man alone.

The man looked up at Oswald. There was only an inch difference in height, but the old immortal took a grin in the trepidation he saw in the man's eyes.

"Okay... He's gone now, so... So you can fuck off, right?"

Oswald shook his head and grinned wide as he raised a hand. The fingers fell down into a fist and that fist flew forward, almost hitting his gut. Instead of hitting, Oswald earned a shocked gasp.

He pulled away, releasing the mortal and turning, leaving him to his terror. "Walk carefully in these nights, coward." Oswald plucked up his dark glasses and leered through them at the insect. "Children of God walk these streets, understand?"

The coward didn't have a good response, so he huffed and retreated into his hole.

Oswald departed again, and only two steps out into the air, he was approached by the other.

He excitedly spoke, "Oh my god, thank you, thank you, who are you, like a cop or something?"

Oswald shook his head, raising a hand. "No, sir. Not a constable, just a citizen."

"Just a citizen, eh?" He looked over the arm that held the coward in place, and smiled at Oswald. "Thanks. I'm Clarence. Friends call me Clare, let me give you my number, and we can meet up again!"

"Number?"

"Do you have your phone?"

Oswald arched a brow and hummed a lie of ignorance, "It must be at home. I was only taking a short walk."

Clare tutted and brushed the air, and the awkwardness of the situation with it. "No prob, you seem like you have a good memory, so I can just tell you, kay? You ready?"

A number... Of some importance. Oswald nodded, and Clare told him ten numbers of seeming importance.

"Okay. I'm going... Back to work. Hungry?"

Oswald slowly nodded. "I do have particular tastes, but yes."

Clare chuckled and patted one of Oswald's big arms as they began to walk. "Well, tell me about these tastes, big guy, and I'll see what we can get. I'm a waiter at one of the bars downtown, I'll get something for you."

The Salubri took a silent moment to himself and pondered. This Clare may be a good member for his thin herd. Trusting, affable, owing. Not to see mortals as cattle, Oswald understood he'd have to find and befriend them to gain his feedings, especially with the hunger he had...


End file.
